


Freewill

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Declarations Of Love, Dream Sex, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Soulmates, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27526462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: The prompt: when soulmates have a sex dream about each other at the same time, they receive a notification.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Olivia Benson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 113





	Freewill

Benson woke on the verge of orgasm, squirming as she blinked her dark bedroom into focus. The ache between her legs was heavy and hot, but for a few moments it was overshadowed by the familiar stab of disappointment that always greeted her when she woke from an erotic dream to find herself alone in bed.

She could still feel the palms skating over her body, the lips at her throat, as though the touches had been burned into her skin; but the burn was fading away, as it always did, leaving her with nothing but the memory. 

She reached a hand between her legs and rubbed her fingers along the seam of her pajamas; the flannel was hot and a little damp, and she came after only a few rough strokes. Her body shuddered as her orgasm rippled through her. 

She let her arm drop to her side, sighing as she stared up at the ceiling. The dream was nothing new, although it _had_ gotten more frequent—more _insistent_ , perhaps—in the last month. Several times a week she woke when she was teetering on the brink of climax. She didn’t always finish herself off, sometimes choosing to let the ache slowly die away: a punishment for whatever sins she’d committed that had led her to this fate.

It was always the same man, in the dream; she couldn’t see his face, but his touches and kisses were as familiar to her as her own body. He always whispered her name in the moments before she woke—the moments before she would come if she could only stay there with him—and the sound of her name on his breath could sometimes haunt her for the rest of the day. 

His tattoo was familiar, too. She saw it in every dream as he bent over her, the dark flower outline inked into his skin just below his collarbone. She was never entirely sure when she woke if her image of him was fuzzy and dreamlike within the fantasy, or if her mind simply blurred the memory as she regained consciousness. Either way, the tattoo was always sharp and clear, branded into her brain. 

She rolled onto her side, drawing her knees up, and looked at the clock on her bedside table. It was just after three a.m. and she had to be up at six. She knew she should get up and pee, but she didn’t want to risk not being able to fall back to sleep. She rarely had the dream twice in one night, but she would gladly trade the dark loneliness of her bedroom for the warm embrace of her dream man.

Out of instinct more than anything, she reached out and grabbed her phone from beside the alarm clock, hitting the button and squinting at the sudden brightness of her screen. She didn’t expect to see any missed calls or texts; she never slept through the sound of her phone.

She blinked in surprise as she saw a text message bubble on her phone. It was empty—there was no name or number, no message. Only the bubble. She felt a nervous squirm in her stomach as she opened the text, and she stared in disbelief when the message appeared before her sleepy eyes.

**Your soulmate match has been initiated. Official time: 2:47am EST. Reference #1403201219132018. Msg &Data Rates May Apply.**

Benson rolled onto her back and lowered the phone facedown onto her chest, where her heart was suddenly slamming inside her ribcage. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and sat up, letting the blanket pool at her waist. She looked down at the phone again, reading and rereading the message. Her finger was trembling when she touched the screen, going to her list of texts to confirm what she already knew she would see.

At the top of her list of text conversations, this newest message showed with nothing but the number 42 where a phone number or contact name should appear. It wasn’t a joke. It was her official notification, the one she’d never thought would come.

After countless dreams of her mystery man, he’d finally dreamed of her at the same time. He was real. He was somewhere in the world, probably reading the same text message—in his own language, with his own timezone stamp. 

He was real. And he was her soulmate. The one person the universe had determined was her destiny, her perfect match. She should be happy, but the cold lump settling into her gut felt more like grief.

* * *

Barba woke with a name on his lips and pleasant heat flaring in his belly, and he froze as reality crashed down on him. His aching cock throbbed again, flooding his briefs with hot wetness, and he ground his teeth as his hands clenched into fists at his sides beneath his comforter. 

This had been happening far too often lately. He was a middle-aged man who did _not_ want to have to buy rubber sheets because he kept having highly inappropriate sex dreams about his best friend.

He threw the blanket back with an angry swipe of his arm and swung himself out of bed before he could make a mess on anything other than himself and the third pair of underwear he’d soiled in a week. He grimaced at the discomfort of wet cotton clinging to his softening cock, gingerly plucking at the material as he made his way toward the bathroom.

He stripped off his briefs and tossed them in the hamper without bothering to turn on the light. He grabbed the washcloth from the edge of the bathtub—it was still damp from his evening shower, and it was cold when he used it to quickly clean himself up. He didn’t care. He deserved the unpleasantness, as penance for betraying his friend. His subconscious mind had no right to fantasize about Olivia Benson. 

He peed, scratching the back of his head as he considered. The dream, as always, had already faded to little more than blurry fragments and ghostly caresses. He could never remember her face, and had no real reason to be so certain that it was Benson. But he felt in his gut that it was her, felt in his _bones_ that it was her. It couldn’t be his soulmate. With as many times as he’d had the dream over the years, if there’d been someone out there even occasionally dreaming about him they’d be _bound_ to have matched up by now. 

He’d become convinced that the universe had no one lined up for him, and that was probably for the best. 

He padded back into his bedroom in the dark, not bothering to pull on clean shorts, and dropped facedown and naked into bed. He sighed heavily into his pillow and fumbled around to pull the blankets over himself. 

* * *

Rollins hesitated on her way out of Benson’s office, debating whether or not to ask. Something was clearly bothering her boss, though, and had been all morning. “Liv,” she said, and the captain looked up in surprise to find the detective still in the room. “Everything alright?”

“Fine,” Benson said. Then, before Rollins could say anything else, the captain sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Actually, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Rollins pointed at the door and, at Benson’s nod, closed it with a quiet click before crossing toward the desk. “What’s going on?”

“Do you believe in...destiny? Fate? Whatever you want to call it, some great cosmic plan…” She sighed again and pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes for a few seconds. She’d already taken Tylenol and aspirin but couldn’t seem to shake the headache that had been plaguing her all morning. She knew it was likely from a restless, mostly sleepless night. 

“I don’t know. I mean I guess we all gotta believe in somethin, right? I’d like to think I’ve got freewill, though. Nice as it’d be to blame the universe for all my screwups,” she added with a small smile. “Why?”

“Freewill,” Benson mused softly as though she hadn’t heard the rest of what Rollins had said. “Right? I could walk out of here right now and be hit by a bus, and whose fault would it be? Mine, for not paying attention? The bus driver’s? Or is it fate? Destined to be.”

In all the years Rollins had known Benson, she’d never heard her talking like this. They’d touched upon religion, spirituality, philosophy. But if Benson was currently having some sort of existential crisis, Rollins was quite certain she was not the right person to help. 

“I’m not sure we can know the answer to that,” she said slowly. “Is there something specific—”

“I got a soulmate text. Last night. Or this morning, technically.”

Rollins blinked a few times. “Oh. _Wow_. That’s—”

“I don’t even know if I buy into the idea of soulmates, I’ve been in love more than once. I’ve loved more than one person. _Real_ love, and the cosmos or _whatever_ don’t get to tell me any of that was invalid.”

Rollins could point out that “real love” or not, none of those relationships had lasted. But she didn’t. Instead, she said, “Liv, it seems like this is good news? I mean it’s the perfect time, right? You’re not seeing anyone—are you?”

“No.”

“So what’s the downside? This could be the best thing. What does he look like? Hot?” She didn’t feel comfortable asking her boss—even if they were also friends—for the details of her sex dream, but she couldn’t deny that she was curious. 

“I never saw his face,” Benson said, but a slideshow suddenly flashed across her thoughts: his hands, arms, shoulders; chest, stomach, hips. For a moment she could see all of him as clear as day in her mind, everything but his face. “But...we were very compatible,” she finally allowed, offering a smile as heat crept into her cheeks. 

Rollins grinned. “Well, there you go, then! Track him down, see what—”

“What if he’s not who I want?”

Rollins faltered, considering the question. “I’m not sure it works like that,” she finally answered.

“That’s what I’m saying, do we have the freedom to—”

“No, I mean...I don’t think it’s possible for you not to like him after you meet. It’s just the unknown that’s worrying you, but once you find him, or he finds you, or you find each other, then—”

“And if I don’t want to find him? If I choose someone—something else, then what? Is fate going to intervene…” She trailed off, dropping her gaze to her desk, and drew a breath through her nose. “I’m sorry, it’s inappropriate for me to be laying all of this on you. It’s just...It feels wrong, Amanda. I don’t think it’s supposed to feel like this, like the universe made a mistake.”

“Well...can I ask...Liv, if you couldn’t see this guy’s face, how do you know it’s not who you want it to be?”

“The man in the dream has a tattoo.” She looked at Rollins but didn’t say more.

“And... _he_ doesn’t,” Rollins assumed. She didn’t ask who he was, but she had a pretty good guess. She’d known Benson a long time. “You’re sure?”

Benson nodded. 

“If you want my opinion...I don’t think you can know anything for sure unless you meet the guy. Or at least track him down. Most people put out ads or something on social media to find their matching number, but maybe you can use our resources to find him without him knowing? Track him down by the tattoo, get an idea of who he is?”

“Maybe you’re right. I’ll think about it. Thanks for listening.”

Rollins nodded, recognizing that she was being dismissed and not taking it personally. “Of course. Let me know if I can help.”

* * *

Barba had read the message dozens of times during the day, and he still couldn’t pinpoint how it made him feel. At first, when he’d checked his phone after being awakened for the second time that morning—thankfully by his alarm clock instead of another embarrassing mishap—he’d felt a strange numbness wash through him. A sense of unreality, devoid of any specific emotion. 

But then, while he was brushing his teeth and staring at himself in the mirror, he could feel anxiety beginning to gnaw at his gut. One of two things was true: either Olivia Benson was his soulmate but it had taken the universe the better part of a decade to get around to letting them know, or the woman in the dreams, the woman he’d always thought of as Benson...was someone else.

The fact that the latter scenario seemed more likely was the cause of his anxiety. He didn’t want to lose his relationship with Benson now that they’d finally gotten their friendship back on track or, more accurately, since she’d forgiven him for the dickish things he’d done. 

The truth was, he’d been in love with her for years, maybe since the moment they’d met, and he didn’t want anyone else. He knew in the logical part of his brain that his feelings might change when he met his so-called _soulmate_ , but he also knew that what he felt for Benson was real. 

So no, he didn’t want anyone else, even if he couldn’t have Benson. 

He’d come close to texting her several times during the day, but what could he say? _Hey, we still on for drinks tonight? By the way, did you happen to have a sex dream about me last night?_ If she’d dreamed about him, he was pretty sure she would’ve let him know already. And if she hadn’t, then that meant that they could really and truly never be together.

Because if she wasn’t his soulmate, then he wasn’t hers, either. And there was no way he could risk getting in the way of her happily-ever-after.

* * *

“Hey,” he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he grinned at the sight of her. “You look nice.” He gestured toward the barstool beside him, but his stomach fluttered nervously when she hesitated. She was smiling, but she clearly had something on her mind. He couldn’t bear to hope it was the same thing on his.

“Thank you.” She fidgeted, running her hands down her blouse for a moment. “Do you mind if we take a table?”

“Sure,” he said, slipping from his stool and grabbing his drink as well as the one he’d ordered for her. He followed her toward an empty booth and slid in across from her. “Is everything okay?” He wanted to ask if she’d gotten a text. He wanted to ask if she’d dreamed about him. He wanted so badly for it to be true that he was afraid to ask anything at all. 

“Yeah, it’s been a long day.” She picked up the glass he’d slid in front of her and sipped at her drink.

“Do you want something to eat? Or we could go somewhere quieter?”

She shook her head, offering a smile. “This is fine. It’s sort of our place, you know?” She looked around the bar, her expression going wistful for a moment. “We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we? The good and the bad…” She paused, still smiling that little smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and murmured, “The best of times, the worst of times. And all that.”

_It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done_ , Barba thought, the Dickens quote rising unbidden into his thoughts and sending a small shiver down his spine. The line struck him as unpleasantly morbid, but also egotistical. He wasn’t sacrificing anything except hypotheticals.

“We have,” he agreed. 

“Are you dating anyone?” 

He paused with his glass almost to his lips. “Besides you?” he asked, a poor attempt at a joke.

She smiled more genuinely, and said, “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

His heart stumbled in his chest.

“But I mean real dating, not two friends who don’t want to drink alone.”

His heart dropped into his stomach. “Who also happen to enjoy each other’s company,” he said, hoping his voice sounded more normal than it felt in his throat. 

“And there’s that,” she agreed. She sipped her drink, glancing around the bar again. 

“Liv, there’s something I need to tell you,” he said. He was genuinely unsure what words were going to follow: if he was going to tell her about his soulmate text, or tell her that he was in love with her. Before he could say either, she spoke again.

“Can I ask you a hypothetical question, first?”

He hesitated, assuming it was going to be a legal question. A case could explain her somber mood. “Okay.”

“Do you buy into the whole soulmate thing?” she asked, and his breath caught in his chest. His whole body went tingly as he stared across the table at her, terrified to hope but feeling the fingers of hope nonetheless. “I mean, do you think we have the right to choose who we want to build a life with? To tell the universe to take its directives and shove them?”

“Did you…” He ran his tongue over his lip and swallowed, gathering his nerves. “Liv, did you get a soulmate notification?”

She leaned forward and put her elbows on the table, and he was unable to tear his gaze away from hers. “Hypothetically speaking, what if I said yes...but that I didn’t want to find him? What if I said that I didn’t care who fate says I should be with, because I’m already in love with someone else? What if I asked you…” She drew a deep breath. “What if I said I wanted to be with you, instead?”

“It, um...It wasn’t me in your dream?” If it was a coincidence that they both received their notifications the same night, leading them toward other people, he wasn’t sure he could handle that sick twist of the universe’s knife.

She shook her head. “He had a tattoo,” she said, gesturing toward her own collarbone. “Jasmine flower. By where your scar is.”

“My scar.” He’d shown it to her late one night after too many drinks. He’d told her a lot of things he’d never told anyone else. One of them was about his father throwing a glass at his head, and how it missed his head but broke below his shoulder, cutting him badly enough that he needed stitches. “The scar that prompted my _abuelita_ to tell my father that if he ever hurt me again, it would be the last time he ever laid eyes on me, let alone a finger.”

“Yes,” she agreed, her face momentarily twisting in pain for the boy he’d been. “Rafael, I know I have no right to ask you, I know it’s selfish, but if there’s any chance—”

“It’s a _mariposa_ ,” he cut in quietly.

She hesitated. “What?”

He unbuttoned the top of his shirt and pulled his collar aside until she could see the dark ink drawn into his skin. “ _Mariposa_. The national flower of Cuba. To honor my grandmother, who made sure that scar was the last one my father ever left on my body.”

“When did you…” She trailed off, seeming to realize that question was unimportant. After a moment, she whispered: “It’s you?”

“Reference number fourteen-oh-three, twenty-twelve, nineteen-thirteen, two thousand-eighteen.”

She closed her eyes, sending tears down her cheeks. “I wanted it to be you so badly,” she breathed.

All of the knots in his stomach vanished, and he felt the tension leave his shoulders as realization settled into him. A pleasant warmth spread through his body. “Olivia,” he said, unable to keep his face from splitting into a grin. “Did you have a sex dream about me at two-forty-seven this morning?”

She opened her eyes to look at him, and his grin only widened at the expression on her face. " _That’s_ your first thought?” 

He put his elbows on the table and reached out a hand, touching his fingers to her wrist. “My first thought is that I’m glad I wasn’t crazy or imagining things. My second thought is...that for all the things I’ve done wrong in this life, I must’ve done something right in the last one. And to answer your earlier question...yes, if it had been someone else, I would’ve ignored fate until my last breath if it meant I could be with you instead.”

More tears spilled down her cheeks and she grabbed his hand, lacing her fingers between his. “That was very sweet,” she whispered, the words barely audible. “And yes, I did. It wasn’t the first time, either. It’ll be nice not to wake up in the middle...”

He laughed, a bubbly and almost giddy sound, and his unbridled happiness filled her with a mixture of warm contentment and cool relief. He ducked his head closer across the table and said in a low voice: “It’ll be nice to fall asleep with you instead of waking up alone.”

“God, you have good lines,” she said, and he laughed again. “And if the dreams are accurate…” she added, letting her gaze slip down the open collar of his shirt, “good _lines_.”

As far as double entendres went it was mild, but it was enough to bring a surprising rush of heat up his neck and into his face, and for a moment he could do nothing but grin across the table like an idiot. “Liv, I have a confession.” He paused. “I’ve been too nervous to eat anything substantial all day.”

“Yes, I’m _starving_ ,” she agreed. “Let’s get dinner.”

“To go?”

“Absolutely.” 

“Can I just…” He rose partway out of his seat to lean over the table, searching her face as she closed the rest of the distance. He brushed his lips against hers, a featherlight caress that sent heat bursting through his skin. Her fingers touched his jaw as she kissed him again and drew a deep breath through her nose. “Liv,” he whispered.

He looked down at her phone, which she’d set on the table, as it buzzed quietly with an incoming text. As he sank slowly back into his seat, he felt his own phone vibrate in his pocket, and he pulled it out to open his message.

After a moment, they both turned their screens toward each other, reading their identical texts: **Soulmate match successful. Official time: 6:12pm EST. Reference #1403201219132018. Msg &Data Rates May Apply.**

“Successful,” Barba said, flashing her a grin. “I’d say that’s an understatement.”


End file.
